Lucy Dale

Missing Pearls

I feel tension between my brows,
my mother smiles in the wedding
photo, perched upon our duo washer
and dryer. I’ve lost the pearl necklace
that lines her collar bone. I see
church ceremonies as taboo, I hate
the idea of wearing white, I do
not tell my mom about the pearls.
Observers say I am an image
of my mother. We have the same
eyes and the same crooked tooth.
Wiping dust from her smile, I reach
for the missing pearls, tightening
around my neck.